Page 16 of Close Knit

When the ridiculous pep talk is over, I hurry to the showers and take the farthest stall. Even though no one can see me through the fogged-up doors, my chest tightens under the stream.

I have nightmares about these exact shower stalls, including one where I drown in blood while my teammates laugh and record. I squeeze my eyes shut and picture her.

Duck.

I never think about hookups, but she keeps sprouting in my mind like a persistent weed.

Her scrunched-up nose, her lavender hair, and her laughter. Besides the Lyndhurst physiotherapists, she was the last human to touch me.

Addictive—that’s what she was.

I change in the stall, soaking my socks and the hem of my jeans. A small price to pay for keeping myself safe from any further violation.

As I walk back to my locker, Coach nods me over.

“Hastings, swing by?”

“What’s going on?” I say as I step into his office, leaning against the closed door.

“Take a seat.”

I eye the two chairs across from Coach. Ivan Matos, Lyndhurst’s former starting goalie and now my backup, sits in one of them.

“I’m good,” I say. My fingers move automatically, peeling away the skin around my nails until I feel the familiar sting in my cuticles.

“Come on.” Matos pats the seat. I don’t budge. “You were solid out there today.”

Matos and I have been training together for over a month, but I try to avoid him. Better we aren’t friends. Especially since he’ll take over if I lose my starting position.

“Could’ve been better.”

Coach Thompson and Matos give me that unreadable look. At least Coach Rossi was blunt about his cruelty.

I have nothing against Coach except his constant lurid smile. As a former Manchester captain, he had a respectable career, leading the team to a Premiership win before retiring and returning to the sport as a coach. After coaching at various clubs, he joined Lyndhurst a couple of years ago. Since taking over, he’s been working to secure Lyndhurst their Premier League trophy—one they haven’t held in ten years—while keeping them competitive among the top three ranked teams in the league. Many predict he has a good chance of success this year. It’s an honor to train under him.

“Listen,” Coach says, “I let you be during preseason, thinking you needed to adjust. But they’re out there bonding, and you’re sulking.” I grunt. “Rossi’s known for being tough.”More like a warlord.

Everyone knows what happened at my old club last season; it was all over the news. Until my dad, who owns Viggle, the world’s largest search engine, managed to scrub it from the internet. Still, I’ve seen my teammates whispering about it.

“Get to the point.”

Coach sighs, rubbing his gray hair. “At our club, we celebrate every win and support each other through every loss.”

Nerves churn in my gut as I recall my rocky start with Overton. They were my first break into the Premier League. They’d taken a gamble on me, an American keeper, and never let me forget it. The constant pressure and their strict methods wore me down.

When my contract finally ended, I was desperate for a change. As a free agent—meaning that I could join any club without a transfer fee—I had a chance to reshape my career. Mysports agent worked tirelessly, negotiating with interested clubs. When Lyndhurst FC put forth an offer, it felt like a lifeline.

Now, with the ink barely dry on my new contract, I can’t afford mistakes like today’s goal. With three years until I’m thirty, time is running out to prove I belong in this league. The weight of expectation presses down on me, heavier than ever.

“Got it,” I say.

Coach studies me. “I’ll be straight with you. Ivan wanted you here. He saw something special in you.”

Matos nods. “I did, Cameron. Those saves against Lakeside’s penalty kicks last year were mind-blowing. Blocking three in a row set a record. But this team is a family. To recover, you need to work with the defensive line. See them as your brothers.”

“I already have three brothers.”

Coach sighs. “Cameron—”

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